Everyone’s gaze followed Hill’s line of sight beyond the altar.
There, at the edge of the clearing, a figure in pure white had appeared at some unknown moment and was slowly walking toward them.
When the hood came down, the familiar white traveling cloak and elegant face made recognition instant.
“It’s the guy from the swamp!”
“Mister Alpha?”
They had known the man from the hidden path couldn’t be ordinary, but none had expected him to be this deeply tied to the story.
Linking it to my earlier tease about “new plot,” imaginations ran wild: the kindly helper who’s actually the final villain, the ally who suddenly betrays you—Seaside Yoyo and the others instantly went full battle-ready.
I, watching from the side, genuinely couldn’t follow their mental gymnastics.
Thankfully Alpha either didn’t notice the hostility or simply ignored it. He smiled gently and removed his hood.
“We meet again, kind adventurers.”
Before anyone could respond, he stepped past the group and fixed his eyes on the ancient tree that had once been the Fallen Treant Lord.
“Yet you seem to have run into trouble. As I suspected, the heart of the problem isn’t here after all—there is somewhere else you must go.”
“Mister Alpha, do you know something?”
Seeing a certain little slacker and a certain strategy-team priest both too lazy to move, and the rest of the newbies clueless about Nightmare plot, Doran face-palmed and stepped forward to trigger the next line.
Alpha didn’t answer. Instead, he produced a faintly yellowed envelope and handed it to her.
“Take this letter. It will guide you. I hope you find the answers you seek.”
With another mild smile, he turned and walked deeper into the forest, leaving one last cryptic line.
“Remember—do not let those who should be brave lose their will to fight, kind adventurers.”
Curiosity exploded. Everyone crowded around.
“What’s inside?”
“Why not just tell us where to go? Is the address in the letter?”
“This envelope looks ancient!”
Doran—who’d already seen this phase in the first-clear team—casually passed it to the eager Seaside Yoyo.
Yoyo tore it open at once. Inside was a single sheet, written not in Common but in the local Gruin dialect, Aringa.
Thanks to the system translator, she read aloud.
The writer was Meril, a follower of sorts. As a young woman, Alpha had saved her life. She traveled with him for a time before returning home, leaving this letter at their parting.
It recounted funny travel stories, treasured memories, and heartfelt thanks for his protection and the life he’d given her.
At the end:
“If you ever need anything, come to Linshade Path, southeast of Black Prison Forest. I will be there.”
“Alpha sounds kinda amazing.”
“So the next plot trigger is there.”
“Southeast of Black Prison Forest… that’s a huge area. No coordinates?”
“There’s a tiny compass in the envelope!”
Morning Season, ever observant, fished out a palm-sized dial. Its needle pointed firmly southeast.
“You guys realize this is basically a love letter, right?”
“Totally! A girl crushing hard after traveling with a hot guy—sparks were bound to fly!”
“So romantic… I wanna write Alpha a love letter too.”
“If Alpha were my boyfriend, I’d dress him in maid outfits every day, hehehe~”
“Pervert…”
While the others swooned, Seaside Yoyo’s squad fixated elsewhere.
“That Meril girl is super pretty.”
Doran and the Roseheart trio, already spoiled on later plot, happily joined the gossip—girls will be girls. Even during first-clear runs they’d squealed over the letter.
Watching them daydream, a certain little someone had to look away to hide a giggling fit. This earned a curious poke from Evin.
“What’s so funny, Ao Tong?”
“Nothing! Just remembered something happy.” I hurriedly composed myself.
But to Evin it looked suspicious. “Is it about that night—”
“OW OW OW—WRONG, I’M SORRY—”
Thank the devs Cross Lock works on allies. Friendly fire would be perfect right now.
Following the envelope’s compass, the team cut through Black Prison Forest and soon reached Linshade Path.
It wasn’t a path—it was a hidden hamlet tucked in the forest’s embrace.
Dozens of wooden cottages lined a broad lane. Wildflowers dotted golden fields. Sunlight filtered through sparse leaves, bathing everything in peaceful, rustic warmth.
Without plot guidance, no player would ever stumble upon a village inside the dungeon.
Yet this serene haven—untouched by the forest’s corruption—was now under siege.
Reaching the entrance, the team found mutated treants, flower sprites, and vine beasts pouring from the trees, clashing with villagers and militia.
The defenders lacked gear and skill. They were losing badly, huddled behind hastily built wooden barricades that wouldn’t last five minutes.
No explanation needed—everyone leapt in to help.
The phase was like the boss’s adds, only more numerous.
But with barricades for cover, militia support, and Hill’s calm commands, the fight—though long—was manageable. Monsters turned to ash or fled into the woods.
“We won!”
“Victory!”
“Take that, you bastards!”
Militia and villagers cheered. The joy was infectious; the team felt like honorary villagers, hearts swelling.
Afterward, a middle-aged man—clearly the militia captain—directed the wounded to the apothecary and chapel. Once everything was handled, he approached the team.
“Thank you from the bottom of our hearts, honored adventurers.” His gratitude was earnest; without them, the line would have shattered.
“No need for thanks—it’s what we do.”
Glancing at the still-slacking little one and priest, Doran sighed and accepted the next plot trigger.